Light Music
by Lovelyruthie
Summary: The Opera House is under new management and a new star is about to make a meteoric rise to celebrity. But what price fame? And what if that price is paid not in Ankh-Morpork Dollars, but in blood? The tale of a simple Carpenter's son takes a dark turn as the Watch pulls out all the stops to silence the music before the final swan song. Sequel to 'Seeing the Light'
1. Chapter 1

Light Music

If music be the food of love, play on and on and on.

###

There was a room, if one could call it a room. It had four walls, a ceiling and a floor. What it did _not_ have was fairly important if you wanted to get in or out. There was neither door nor window in the pitch-black space and for very good reason; the dead do not have use for either portal. Very soon however, the dead would wake.

###

Bingly-bingly beep! Bingly-bingly _SMASH!_

"Oh _Sam!_ " Lady Sybil admonished her husband, who had thrown the Dis-organiser Mark 6.2 hard against the bedroom wall. "You only just upgraded last week. And look at the state of the wallpaper!" There were a series of dents and scrapes on the wall, evidence of Dis-organisers past.

"I'm the Commander of the Watch," he told his wife earnestly. "I don't need to be bingled out of my slumber. I know exactly when and where I am needed. Besides if you can't get an extra half an hour's kip when you're the boss, what's the point?"

She shook her head, smiling at her big grump and snuggled back down into bed.

"Anyway-" He looked down fondly at his Lady. "-there _are_ nicer ways to get me going in the morning."

Sybil raised a brow. "Such as?" she almost purred.

"Breakfast in bed." His face broke into a smile before his wife swatted him with a pillow.

###

Otto Chriek and his partner in both senses of the word, Lily Ann Flach, were meeting over breakfast. They hadn't seen much of each other for the past few weeks except for fleeting moments over egg on toast. He was on the night shift at the Times working on an investigative piece in The Shades*. Lily continued to run their going concern, 'Flach and Chriek', an iconography store.

 _*The Shades certainly lived up to it's name; shady indeed and place known for butchery of all kinds._

They were sat in the greasy spoon not far from the Times Offices, Otto with a syrupy coffee, Lily with a syrupy tea. "So, next month it'll be a year since we opened the shop," she began, watching him closely.

He nodded and mmhmmed in response, taking a slurp from his chipped mug.

"You know what that means don't you?" she asked hopefully.

"A sale?"

"No. I mean well, yes we _are_ going to do something special. For the _anniversary_ ," she laboured the last word quite deliberately but it seemed lost on the vampire whose eyes were beginning to close.

"That's nice darlink," he answered on auto-pilot.

"Otto?! Do you not know what day it is?"

Two plates of egg and toms on toast were plonked down unceremoniously in front of them. "Monday," their server answered. "Special on Bubble, Bacon and Beans." He gestured to the chalkboard.

"Oh um…yes, thank you," Lily replied before turning her rather annoyed attention back to her other half. "Otto, it is a year ago to the day that we met!"

Oh dear, he thought, the first anniversary of anything remotely nice in his life and he had forgotten it. Well that was not strictly true. He always remembered the day he became a Black Ribboner and swore off the red stuff, but this was different. He did what the many men before him caught in this situation did. He lied.

"Ve met at two-zirty in zer afternoon my dear, so technically it is not our anniversary until zen." He winked and gave her a sly smile.

"Oh!" she gasped. "You've planned a surprise! Oh Otto I can't wait to find out what it is!" She beamed.

Neither can I, he thought, biting into his tomato.

###

At the breakfast table in the Vimes household, Young Sam presented his father with a tomato the size of a tea-plate. "Look what the green house came up with this morning," he announced proudly. "Thanks to lion, tiger and bear dung!"

"Oh my!" Sybil responded. "Could we not keep the subject of dung away from the breakfast table, dear?"

"It's a triumph, son," Vimes encouraged. "You're green-fingered alright."

"In which case you should wash your hands before you eat!" his Mother insisted.

"Yes Mum…" Sam junior grumbled and made his way to the nearest convenience.

Sam Senior was scanning the newspaper for anything of interest i.e. anything criminal*. As he turned the pages Sybil would usually look to see if she could see anything of interest to _her_. Today she did. "Oh Sam, the Opera House is changing hands again!"

 _*Other than the spelling, grammar or the terrible way in which he thought the news was reported._

"Is it?" He knew where this was headed and knew he wasn't going to get out of it, however much he downplayed it.

"Oh we should go Sam, it's been an age since we went out together for the evening and I do so love it!" She sighed. "How wonderful would it be to see La Mayhéme again?"

"I don't know. It's pretty much etched on my mind from the last time." He kept his face firmly hidden from view behind the paper. It was undoubtedly one of the least enjoyable things he'd had to do with Sybil since their marriage and he included every single nappy, burping and snotty cold that Young Sam had ever had in that.

"Ah, but imagine the influence of the new patron's vision!"

"Yes, _imagine_ …" But what he was imagining was more along the lines of demolishing the ornate building that stood opposite his place of work.

"Could you pop by there on your way in?" she asked sweetly, knowing full well he would, despite his gruff response. "Perhaps later we could do that thing you like?"

His head peeked over the top of the newspaper, suddenly interested. "Oh?"

Young Sam strolled back in and sat down at the table.

"Breakfast in bed," she teased with a twinkle in her eye. Old Sam very much hoped she was being metaphorical.


	2. Chapter 2

The Ankh-Morpork Opera House was stunning to the point of majesty from the front but from the rear, she was a bit of a beast. And deep down in the bowels of the buildings, betwixt the rat runs that housed dressing rooms and storerooms she couldn't have been less glamorous.

The new Patron had yet to arrive on the premises. In fact no one even knew the name of the new Patron, just that there was one and they were already sending on instructions to the staff. Mr Seldom Bucket had decided it was time to retire. He had sold up, but far from go back to his native Lancre, he planned to travel to more exotic climes and see the places so frequently sung about on the stage.

One of the changes from the new owner was the employ of Wright Brailey and his team. Wright was a Wright. His father had been a Wright, his Father's Father before him, in fact all of the males in Wright's family had been Wright* by both name and profession. A troll, Dyscrasite, who dealt with masonry and Truin Forgesson, a Dwarf who specialised in metalwork, assisted Wright's carpentry skills. The trio were travelling the length of the aforementioned rat-runs in search of what they had been told were 'original features'. They had been at the task for hours and were so far into the 'bowels' that the narrow, uneven walls beset with pipes would better described as the lower intestines.

 _*Let's face it most men think they are._

"Are we nearly dere yet?" Dysc asked, practically doubled over and scraping the walls.

"I don't even know where _there_ is!" Wright answered exasperated. "All I know is, there are supposed to be stores with some of the very first fittings and fixtures of the Opera House. Although what sort of state they'll be in…" He shrugged. There were puddles of water here and there, copious amounts of rat droppings and oh yes, rats to go along with them.

"We've been heading on a downward gradient for the past half-mile," Truin commented, handing candles to the other two for their lanterns. Her bias cut chain mail glittered prettily in the yellow light. "I think we're in the right place. I mean this work is _old_." She tapped the nearest wall, which crumbled a little to that effect. Dysc made the error of doing the same and with a slow creak and a loud thud the wall fell, blowing out all their lanterns.

###

All three of them coughed profusely in the dark, then swore just as profusely until Truin found a match and shed some light on the matter. Dysc had fallen through a wall and revealed a dusty bricked up forgotten space. There were rat bones scattered across the floor and in the corner a large rectangular shape covered in sheets.

"What d'you s'pose that is?" she asked.

Wright didn't know but he hoped it was what he was looking for. He climbed over his fallen comrade, "Sorry Dysc, mate."

"S'alright boss," he rumbled back. "I take five, yeah?"

He tugged at the sheets, which tore and fell off the hidden object with little to no effort. It was like unwrapping a Halloween present what with all the webs and dead spiders. Wright revealed something entirely unexpected.

"It's a piano. A Grand piano at that!" The fallboard was up, exposing the ivory keyboard and he did what practically everyone did when in front of a piano. He tapped a key. The single note that came out of the dusty wreck was sweeter than any of them could have expected and it sent a pleasurable shiver up Wright's spine.

After a beat he turned to his colleagues. "Let's get her up top."

"You're kidding right?" Truin retorted. "It's done in."

"She just needs some TLC is all." He gently patted the piano lid which creaked. "Besides, I'd say she comes under the description of original features don't you?"

Slowly Dysc extricated himself from the wall and helped manoeuvre the piano out, sideways. Truin worked at the pins on each leg so that they could be removed, clearly the only way the instrument could have been transported this far down such narrow corridors. As Wright took the lighter end of the piano he almost felt strong enough to carry the whole thing. There was nothing like a new project to put fire into your belly. Of course without Dyscrasite he would have got all but three feet with the heavy load.

As they made their awkward way Truin noticed chains in amongst the dustsheets. They were rusted badly and not worth salvaging so she left them, but she wondered, why would anyone need to chain up a piano?


	3. Chapter 3

After a quick bat-nap* Otto dashed over to The Times to find William De Worde, editor of said newspaper, but more importantly, his best friend. He found him stuffing his face with a sandwich and scribbling in green ink on a story that needed some hefty work.**

 _*The vampiric equivalent of a cat-nap, often taken upside-down_

** _Green ink was less confrontational than the traditional red and William was not one for confrontation. He was so apologetic he would often say sorry for saying sorry._

"Villiam I haff a big problem!" He noted that there was quite a bit of ink on his friend's lunch but wasn't sure it was polite to point it out.

"Mmfh?" William replied.

"Today. It's the anniversary of ven Lily and I first met and I forgot!"

William finished chewing. "Otto I think anniversaries only count when you're married. You're lucky, one less thing to worry about."

"I don't zink Lily sees it zat vay." He paused, thinking about it. Actually he didn't see it that way either. He wanted to celebrate it, it's just he'd had so much on his mind with work. He cursed in Überwaldean. "She's expectink a surprise at two zirty and it's-" He pulled out a pocket watch from his waistcoat. "-ack! I haff only an hour. Vot can I do?"

"You could always propose?" William smirked.

Otto pulled a face. "I voz zinking more alonk zer lines of some flowers."

"Well that's not exactly a grand gesture is it?" William answered.

"No, no." Then it hit him. "But it _could_ be!" Otto spotted William's wife coming round the corner. "Sacharissa! Could you do me a favour? It iz a matter of life and death!"

"Whose death in particular?" she asked wryly.

"Mine if ve don't get a move on!"

###

At the shop Lily was giddy with excitement. She loved surprises but she was forever restless trying to work out what it was so that by the time she'd thought of a myriad possibilities, each grander than the last, reality would be a let down. "I expect-" she said to her employees, eyes shining with hope. "-that I will be called out of the shop for some _mysterious_ and _unknown_ reason rather soon. Are you _sure_ you don't know anything about it?"

Mr Dulling and his assistant Daysee Cheynes both shook their heads. Mr Dulling, an Orc, had lost his sight at the the end of what was remembered as 'The Rainbow Murders'. Daysee now worked alongside him as his eyes, although Dulling did remarkably well for himself. It was true that the other senses became more keen when one is lost and right now he could smell the potential disappointment. "Miss Flach, perhaps guessing what it is, isn't the best idea. Patience is a virtue."

"And bissonomy," Daysee added.

They both looked toward the girl and smiled vaguely. She was very sweet, ridiculously kind and often very literal.

"Yes, yes, I suppose you're right." Lily sighed. "But I just can't _wait_ to find out!"

Just then Sacharissa arrived. When they very first met they hadn't exactly got on, but over time Lily had come to consider her as her closest friend. Sacharissa knew Lily all too well, "Come on then, I've got to distract you for the next half an hour for reasons that I will not reveal however much you beg."

Lily clapped her hands and grinned at her staff. " _Told_ you!" She headed out the door already quizzing her bestie, "Are we eating? Because if we're not, maybe he's taking me to afternoon tea…"

###

Otto had hot-footed it to Pellicool Steps where there was a florist that owed him a favour. The door-bell jangled as he practically launched himself at the counter, "Mrs Putsmith, I need ten dozen, no tventy dozen red roses as qvick as you can!"

"Can't do 'em 'til tomorrow sweetheart," she answered, as she worked on an arrangement.

"Ok, any colour roses?"

"No roses, darlin', not that many anyways."

"Carnations? Daffodils? _Anyzink_?"

"Lissen, that amount of all the same flower I could do, if you ordered the day before, but you 'aven't so I can't."

Mr Putsmith came through the back doors. "They've only bleedin' cancelled, Dolly!" He was pulling a cart behind him and as he turned, Otto saw the contents were perfect. He handed a surprised Mrs Putsmith a wad of Ankh-Morpork dollars. "I vill take zer lot! Can I bring zer cart back zis evenink?"

###

Lily had continually talked Sacharissa's ear off the entire time they were out. They had partaken of tea and cake and the theories had flown until she got to the ultimate theory. "You don't think, that he might, you know, _propose_?"

Sacharissa's heart sank, because she already knew that wasn't the plan, but now it was in Lily's head no amount of persuasion was going to make her think otherwise. "You know what I think?" Sacharissa asked.

"No, what?"

Sacharissa wasn't surprised, because Lily had been so happy in her own little wittering world she hadn't listened to anything that she'd had to say on those rare moments where she could get a word in edgeways. "I think that whatever the surprise is, you should be happy and grateful and know that you have someone who loves you. Because if he doesn't get down on one knee the last thing you should be doing is getting upset about it."

"But he might?" Lily had begun to realise she had run away with herself but wasn't going to let go of the idea.

Sacharissa sighed. She spotted a goblin waving at her from the corner of Bluffwilder Street. "Ok, it's a go. _Enjoy_ your surprise."

Lily practically skipped back to the store. The reporter made her way back to work, shaking her head. She was going to hear _all_ about it later.


	4. Chapter 4

It had taken almost three hours to get the grand piano out but finally they had got it to the workshop. The workshop was a series of lean-tos and sheds out the back and to the left of the building suitably far enough away from the stage door on the back right. Once the legs were back on, the instrument was placed in the largest shed. Dysc and Truin headed off for a well-deserved late lunch but Wright stayed on. Despite the hard work it had taken to get the derelict instrument out of it's tomb he was itching to get started on it.

But that was it, where to start? And how to start? The lid was warped so badly it almost appeared like the curled lip of a snarling mouth. "Let's clean you up," he told it and locating a brush he began to shift the layers of dust and grime. He spent a long time with the horsehair brush, just stroking along the piano's woodwork and it was strange, but he felt strongly that he wanted to learn to play it. He knew his way round a hammer, chisel and lathe but had never shown any sort of musical leanings before.

He stood in front of the piano again and had the fancy of tinkling the keys, placing his fingers where he thought it might make a nice sound. But as Wright's fingertips connected with the ivories the fall board clapped shut on his hands and his shriek echoed around the sheds.

###

Lily squealed with delight as Otto opened the door to their shop for her. The space was filled with a sea of elegant white flowers.

"Lilies for my Lily," he told her as she practically leapt into a hug. He kissed her and all the drama of getting them there had been worth it. A funeral home had cancelled a huge order when the deceased had the indecency to rise from the dead and resume his life where he left off. Inconvenient for the family who had to hand the will back, but very convenient for Otto.

"They're my favourites," she announced smiling happily, then giggling as the goblins, a family of six who lived underneath the store and who were the most ingenious of employees, popped up from behind the counter waving flowers at them.

"Congratulations Mr Otto and Mistress," 'The Turning of the Cogs' told them before Daysee took a rapid round of photos of the pair. Knowing Daysee they would be arty to the point of being unrecognisable.

"Um…perhaps you could take the rest of the afternoon off?" Lily suggested to her staff who took full advantage of the offer and a mere thirty seconds later Lily and Otto were alone.

"So," Lily looked up at her suitor expectantly.

"So…?" He raised a questioning eyebrow and smiled at her fondly feeling so lucky to have her in his arms and more importantly, in his life.

"Um…" What should happen next she thought, should be him getting down on one knee, a ring box produced, her gasping and of course saying yes. A date decided, lists made; many, many lists, a dress, the cake, the bridesmaids, the flowers, the honeymoon. All those lovely things that she had dreamed about when she wasn't dreaming about iconography. And yet he was standing there, _not_ getting on one knee and _not_ asking the question she was desperate for him to ask.

"Iz somezink wronk?" he asked, sensing something was off but not able to make sense of it. Lily did what so many women in this situation had done before. She lied.

"No, no," She smiled back as convincingly as she could. "I'm fine. They're beautiful. Thank you."

"Happy Anniversary." He pulled her close and assumed the tears in her eyes were merely happiness.

###

Paperwork. Paper. Work. It seems that the higher up the ranks you climbed the more there was of it. An exponential curve of forests felled and scribbled on with shoals of octopi excreta into infinity. Vimes sat at his desk and stared it down, but unlike actual living perpetrators of crime that would shrink back and wish for non-existence, the myriad reports, orders, certificates and letters from SIPs* simply continued to be. Much of the time Captain Carrot would sweep through and take care of the worst of it.  
Often a well-placed signature would serve to make it disappear but today actual reading was required and so it was by late afternoon he was spurred on to leave the office he hadn't asked for and headed over the road to the Opera House. He presumed it was the lesser of two evils, but as he stepped inside the grand building he had reason to question his judgement.

 _*Stupidly Important People**_

 _**With, to Vimes' mind, emphasis on the stupid._

A blood-curdling scream was followed by panicked creative types trying to find the source of the histrionics. Sam Vimes allowed his feet to lead him through the kerfuffle and get to the scene of what he suspected would be a crime. He just hoped it wasn't going to be one of those supernatural ones. There were days when he longed for a good old-fashioned melee to break up or a burglar to shake til all the stolen goods fell out. As it was he discovered a trembling tradesman, hands wrapped in a rapidly reddening dustsheet.

"What happened?" the Commander asked.

"Piano accident," one of the set-builders propping up Wright answered.

"What did it do? Bite him?" Vimes quipped incredulous, clearing the way for them to get out of the Opera House and to the Lady Sybil Free Hospital.

"Yes…" Wright replied weakly, before passing out.


	5. Chapter 5

There was music playing as if from far away. A mellifluous melody of notes spiralling and falling, fading to the background then grabbing at the ear again. It was beautiful, spell-binding even, but a tune that defied the listener to pin it down and make sense of it. It was alive. It was as if a soul were singing the meaning of the universe itself. Then a loud clatter silenced it and Wright Brailey's eyes flicked open.

Dysc was busy apologising for the table he had managed to knock over as he'd sidled to head of Wright's bed. Truin was rolling her eyes at the accidental carnage her rocky friend's rear end seemed to cause wherever they went. Dysc was a gifted mason but had little in the way of spatial awareness.

"It stopped," Wright stated blankly.

"What stopped?" the dwarf asked, expecting the 'Where am I?' conversation that people waking up in hospital usually initiated. She was thrown by hearing something different.

"The music." Wright eased himself up in bed on his elbows and looked down at his hands which had been neatly bandaged. They felt strange, not hurting exactly but tingling. A bit like pins and needles. It was like they were sleeping.

"Wot music?" Dysc had righted the table which was now a slightly different shape.

Wright blinked then asked, "How long have I been here?"

"Only overnight," Truin answered, "Bob said you had an accident with the piano? I don't know what happened but you did an incredible job."

Wright raised a quizzical brow that disappeared into the dark curls of his hair, "Did I?"

"Yer," Dysc nodded, little chips of rock falling as he did, "Piano lookin' real nice. I didn't touch it or nuffin'" He glanced at Truin who had ensured that Dysc had kept his enormous digits away from the instrument.

"The Doctors seem to think your hands will heal so you can finish the restoration job. In fact, they're a bit surprised at how quickly they're healing. Bob said he thought at least one of your fingers was completely off." She grimaced.

Wright managed to wiggle said fingers within the bandages, "Could you help me?"

Truin protested at first but begrudgingly assisted in unwrapping Wright's right hand. She didn't do blood and guts very well and was ready to look away as she peeled away the layers, but there was no blood and they were all surprised to find a perfectly serviceable slender-fingered hand, not a mark on it. Wright quickly used his now free hand to release the other equally uninjured left hand. He held them up and turned them back and forth, marvelling at them.

A nurse came over ready to tell him off as only a nurse can, to discover that miraculously he had recovered. "I've never seen anything like it," she murmured.

"Neither have I," Wright responded, in awe. It's often said that if you know something particularly well, that you know it 'like the back of your hand'. Whilst they were clearly attached to his body, these were not the calloused, work-worn sausage-fingered mitts he had come to rely upon. These were the hands of a musician and Wright suddenly knew they were ready to play.

###

Late that night Otto left the Shades with the evidence he needed. It would rock the Dwarf community to know that their rat supply had been tainted. But whilst he was relieved to know he'd no longer be working such unsociable hours, there was something else troubling him. He had the sickening feeling that Lily was upset with him but couldn't for the life or death of him work out what he'd done wrong.

The thing was, being a vampire he'd lived a long time, he'd 'been around' as it were. But, being a vampire, the women he'd had in his life back in the 'bad old days' had _not_ been around for very long. If he took a girl out for dinner, _she_ had been the dinner. Long-term relationships were not part of his experience and marking an anniversary had got him thinking about the future. It was not a good feeling.

The printing presses were still clanking away in the Times Offices. The truth never slept although the dwarves manning* the machines took it in shifts to. Otto gave the night crew a half-hearted nod and made his way to the dark room. Some men went to church, many had discovered the solitude of the shed, but Otto's dark room was both temple and sanctuary. As he went through the motions of developing the slides his mind worked on the problem.

 _*(or should that be dwarfing?)_

Did he love Lily? He looked up at the portrait he took of her on the first day they met. His heart still leapt at the sight of her. But was love enough? William had mentioned marriage but how would that honestly work? He could in theory live hundreds of years after she had long gone. Children? Vampires did not make good fathers. His own had been mostly absent and dysfunctional was far too mild a word to describe the average vampire family. She deserved better, so much better.

As he worked he found he must have somehow got developing fluid in his eyes. He wiped away the tears with the back of his chalk-white hand and told himself to be more careful next time.


End file.
